Paradise and Sunset
by greenleaf-in-bloom
Summary: Elizabeth Turner died when her son was three, leaving him only broken memories and a broken father. But what happens when the past creeps back on Will Turner? What happens when he has to relive the pain of the past to save his son?
1. Pirates' Sunset

Pirate ships and pirate sails Children's make-believe in the dirty streets Skull and crossbones, hear my tale Come and sit and listen.  
  
***  
  
"Papa?"  
  
Will Turner looked down at the little boy, who was sitting on a small barrel, and then looked back to his work.  
  
"What is it, James?"  
  
The dark-haired child was silent for a moment, swinging his feet back and forth so that they made regular loud thuds against the wood. Then, curiously, "Why did Mother always call you a pirate?"  
  
Will felt his face tighten and tried to relax it. He didn't know how the boy remembered. After all, he had only been three when she had died.  
  
He turned again, slowly, staring into the brown eyes of his seven-year-old son, so big in his dirty face, and set down his hammer. The sword could wait. Everything could wait.  
  
***  
  
With black sails and dark flags above I sailed upon a pirate ship I left her when I found my love Long days ago when I was young.  
  
***  
  
"Do you remember after your mother died, how I took you out in a boat, and I started to row out, far out, until the shore was almost out of sight?"  
  
"You stopped," James said quietly. "Didn't you? You were bailing water out of the bottom. It splashed all over your clothing. You said it was a poor ship."  
  
"All I could afford," Will said, nodding and marveling silently at James' memory.  
  
"I thought you were going to cry." His voice was ever quieter now. "You said something about never being able to find her. Were you talking about Mama?"  
  
Will took in a quick breath, and then sighed. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe."  
  
"Who else?"  
  
Will smiled faintly. "James, you've heard of the Black Pearl, right?"  
  
"The pirate ship!" James said enthusiastically. "From the stories. The children in the streets, their mothers tell them about it. But it isn't real. None of the things they say are."  
  
"Well, my boy," Will whispered dramatically, sitting on the ground next to the barrel, "I'm going to tell you about it now. And the first thing I'm going to tell you is that it is real. I've seen it with my own eyes. Not only that, James, I've IsailedI on it."  
  
"You?" James looked amazed. "Wow!"  
  
"Have you heard of her captain, James?"  
  
"Captain Jack Sparrow! Everyone's heard of him!"  
  
"Before your mother and I were married," Will said, a distant smile spreading across his face, "Jack and I were best friends."  
  
Brown eyes as big as saucers got wider.  
  
"IYou knew Jack Sparrow?I"  
  
"Oh, yes," Will continued. "Yes, I knew Jack. But I haven't heard from him now in seven years. . ."  
  
"Since I was born?"  
  
"Yes, that's right. He came when you were born, on another ship - couldn't bring the Pearl, see. It was too dangerous. He came just for a day. When he first saw you, your mother let him hold you, and he touched your forehead. Do you know what he said?"  
  
James shook his head back and forth quickly.  
  
"He said, Is this boy going to be a pirate, Will?"  
  
"What did you tell him?" James asked eagerly.  
  
Will looked away a moment, and was silent. Then he said softly, "I didn't answer him. Your mother did."  
  
"Oh," James said in a hushed voice. "All right."  
  
Will met his son's eyes. "She said that you were the only one who could decide."  
  
There was a long silence, and James slid off of the barrel and hugged his father. Will's eyes were far away, but he wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders.  
  
***  
  
I miss the life that I once knew With black sails in the pirate winds With friends and enemies old and new And danger always right behind.  
  
***  
  
A fourteen-year-old boy stood at the forge, sweat standing out on his face. The Iclang-clangI of the hammer was loud enough that he could pretend not to be able to hear what his father was saying.  
  
"What?" he shouted, venting his frustrations (Iclang-clangI) on the slim piece of metal and hoping his father would take the hint and come closer.  
  
But, "James!" his father shouted again, so loudly that (Iclang-clangI) he couldn't pretend anymore. He lifted the blade and examined it far too closely - it was very hot, the heat rolled off in waves and hurt his dirty, sweaty face - then he pretended to fumble for its case, and examine that too, refusing to turn around and look at his father.  
  
A hand, carefully placed but firm on his shoulder.  
  
He turned sharply, looking up into his father's face and shoving the sword into its scabbard far too hard. "What do you want?" he asked bitterly, knowing.  
  
"I'm going out," Will answered predictably. Every Sunday since they had moved to Tortouga, his father had gone out to the local tavern, leaving James at home to cook himself a small supper. Every Sunday, Will had come home just before dawn, sometimes completely sober, sometimes staggering from drink.  
  
"All right," James said, enunciating both words and wrenching his shoulder out of the firm grasp, taking another project and beginning to work on it.  
  
"James," (Iclang-clangI) Will said, loudly enough to be heard but not roughly, "if it makes you angry that I do this -"  
  
He was cut off. James hurled the hammer into the hot piece of metal, denting it irrepairably and lodging his father's tool securely into it, and whirled around.  
  
"Angry?" the boy said, picking up the scabbarded sword from where he had set it down and marching across the room, slamming it into an empty niche. "IAngry?I Why would it do that, IFatherI?"  
  
Will didn't answer, just stared at his son's back as James rearranged the swords needlessly, his fingers running over the intricate workings and stroking the smooth leather with obvious longing for one of his own.  
  
"Do you want me to stay here tonight?"  
  
"I want you to do whatever makes you IhappyI." There was obvious venom and sarcasm in the words, but Will nodded solemnly.  
  
"Then would you like to come with me?"  
  
"INoI," James answered acidly.  
  
***  
  
Dreams of dreams of treasures lost And treasures later found The bow breaks on the morning frost And we travel the waves' breast on.  
  
Out of dawn and into dark Wind takes us where we will Close to nighttime comes a spark The dying pirate's sunset.  
  
***  
  
Well, that's Chapter One finished. Savvy? 


	2. Less

Childhood has an end like all things, All things good or bad The years go by as darkness sings This man was only just a lad.  
  
***  
  
The last words he had hissed, Sometimes I hate you, rung in his ears long after the slam of the door, or the sound of his father's sharply drawn breath.  
  
He left the forge alone, and practiced with the sword, as he did each Sunday evening. Usually he'd stop to make supper, but he didn't this time, too angry, and enjoying his play too fiercely. Near ten, he heard voices in the streets, and considered bolting the door. Near quarter past, he heard the first scream and ran into the street, staring out towards the sea.  
  
Near midnight, he woke up on a ship with black sails, his head stinging fiercely and a voice ringing out Captain! The little whelp's awake!  
  
***  
  
Growing up can take years Can take months Can take seconds Can take less.  
  
***  
  
The man had an eyepatch, proper black with skull-and-crossbones white. He also had a hand made of wormy wood and enough missing teeth to make an ugly leer.  
  
He asked for a name.  
  
"James Turner." He tried to make it defiant and failed miserably.  
  
The man started back. "Will Turner's boy?"  
  
Startled, James nodded without thinking. Someone knew his father's name? Someone. . .a pirate? He had long since decided the tales of the Black Pearl that Will told were no more real than fairies.  
  
The captain was silent a moment, and James looked around. He was in a cage, and across from him in another was a sullen-looking pirate, middle- aged and wearing a hat and torn cotton shirt and breeches. The other man had dark skin and eyes, and from what little James could see of his hair, that too was black.  
  
"Well, you whelp," the captain said, "my name is Eldred but you will call me Captain. You will not be killed - yet - and you will be fed bits and scraps, bread and maybe some meat and any rum we feel like sparing. And if you want to be so good, we could use a hand on deck, even if the hand is clapped in irons to the other."  
  
"On - on deck?" James said uncertainly. He saw the man across from him shake his head a fraction, even though whoever it was was not meeting his eyes.  
  
"Yes, are you deaf? Whatever your father's taught you can be of use, I'm sure."  
  
"My father - you mean about sailing? He hasn't taught me anything."  
  
"Well, in that case, you can stay down here." Eldred vanished quickly, leaving James and the other man alone.  
  
There was a moment of silence in which James slumped against the bars, and then the other man scrambled to them hastily, almost tripping.  
  
"You're IWill Turner'sI son?"  
  
And James started violently, because it was a woman's voice. As he looked closer, he saw that the hat must be holding up her hair, and her face did have a definite feminine look to it.  
  
"Y - yes," he said hesitantly.  
  
"Thank God!" she whispered, and reached her hand out of the bars, about halfway across. "I'm Anamaria. Maybe I'll be saved at last! You being kidnapped is certainly the best thing that's happened to me 'round here."  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked, his face twisting in confusion, not taking her her hand. She withdrew it.  
  
"Well, he'll come to rescue you, won't he?"  
  
James actually laughed at this thought. "My father?" he asked. "My father's a blacksmith, and far too fond of rum for his own good. He couldn't afford a ship for his life!"  
  
"He'll pirate one then!" Anamaria said, as if it were obvious. "And if he's fond of rum, at least Jack's had some influence on him! We expected the three of you to be coming and joining our crew years ago! Jack always kept the ship three people short."  
  
James' face twisted again. "Three?"  
  
"Well, we didn't expect your parents to leave you behind! But your father was always a pirate at heart, and we thought he and your mother'd come see Jack someday, savvy?"  
  
"My mother's dead," James said, his voice flat.  
  
"Dead?" she whispered, leaning against the bars as if to get a better look at his face. "How? When?"  
  
"Eleven years ago," James said, in the same carefully neutral voice, "from some kind of a fever."  
  
"Oh," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. Jack didn't know."  
  
"He hasn't been in touch with my father since I was born."  
  
"Well, o'course he has!" Anamaria said as if the very idea was ridiculous. "He sent letters every ImonthI for years! But your father never responded. Don't know why. Didn't seem to bother Jack all that much."  
  
"My father never got the letters," James said quietly. A doubt lurked in his mind, though - was it possible his father had lied to him, to prevent him from knowing the truth somehow?  
  
"Jack would steal passenger pigeons from the ships we looted," Anamaria said, as if she hadn't heard him, "and wrote the letters, long, they were. Most of us had never known he was lettered. But the pigeons almost always came back, without letters, of course. . ."  
  
"So you. . ." James took a deep breath. "You were one of the crew of the IBlack PearlI?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Anamaria said quietly. "First mate!"  
  
"So won't Captain Jack Sparrow be coming after you in the Pearl?"  
  
Anamaria moved closer, her voice sinking. "You've got to understand this," she whispered. "I know Eldred doesn't seem like a properly savage, stupid evil sort of pirate like you hear about at port, but he's better at it than he looks."  
  
"What does that have to do with my question?"  
  
Anamaria looked blank. "The Black Pearl won't be coming," she said quietly, "because this IisI the Black Pearl."  
  
***  
  
Stealing, drinking, mutiny This is the stuff of a pirate's life Follow the Code and do these things three And you'll be a pirate too.  
  
***  
  
Will Turner stole the first ship that came into Tortouga and pirated it out of the bay by himself.  
  
Jack, he thought vaguely through his half-drunken confusion, would have been proud.  
  
He steered her into the sunrise, following the way they had said the ship had sailed away.  
  
The way the IBlack PearlI had sailed away. With his son.  
  
He couldn't believe that Jack would do that, and so he was headed for a certain island, one where he only hoped the rum was not all gone. One where he hoped Jack Sparrow had not been for long.  
  
One shot.  
  
He cradled the gun in his hand as he steered with the other, trying to comprehend what had happened, and praying that he wasn't wrong. 


	3. Strangers

Jack Sparrow tilted his head back and glanced at the darkening sky, fingering his gun with one hand.  
  
He had tried to use the one shot, put the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger, a few days after the rum ran out.  
  
It had been then that he had discovered that Eldred hadn't left him a bullet.  
  
There was still some food, but not enough for a lifetime, and there were fish in the shallows, but not fresh water, only saltwater that left him perpetually thirsty.  
  
And so he could wait to starve, or he could just die beforehand.  
  
He was thin, very thin. It had been weeks since he had been stranded here for a third time, this time with only the hopes that his old replenished stores of rum and food would last long enough for his crew to find him. They had been scattered - those who had refused to join Eldred. Anamaria had fought, and been either imprisoned or killed. Jack had never found out which. He hoped, for her sake, she had been killed.  
  
He thought he was insane.  
  
There were dreams of old days, of he and Will and Elizabeth riding the waves, of the last time he had seen them, of gold coins and crew members long dead, of the days when he had been young instead of this thin aging man. Days when he had been Captain Jack Sparrow and they had remembered him, always.  
  
But they were only dreams, and Will and Elizabeth were far away with their son and perhaps even more than just one child, never responding to letters, never coming as he had always been sure they would.  
  
And now he knew that they would never come, and he would never see them again, because he was going to die. The pirate in him, the fighting rogue, was already dead, and he found that he didn't really care.  
  
***  
  
Pain Dreams lost Age Betrayal The curses of any adventurer When his adventures are drawing to an end.  
  
***  
  
Will lost track of how long it took him.  
  
He sailed up to the island in late summer, unsure whether it had been a week or a year since they had taken James, unable to remember food or sleep if they ever came.  
  
He anchored the ship and went ashore.  
  
And he walked all around the island, and although he didn't find what he was looking for, he did find a man who claimed his name was Jack Sparrow.  
  
***  
  
"You changed, Will," Jack said quietly, tearing off another chunk of bread and taking another swig of rum.  
  
"So did you," Will answered quietly. It was absolute truth - they were both fourteen years older, fourteen years different.  
  
There was a silence. Jack realized suddenly that they were strangers. Neither had even recognized the other at first - the thin, drawn man lying on the beach and muttering madly to himself, and the wide-eyed, stumbling man who had walked up and stood beside him for what seemed like years before speaking.  
  
But Jack broke the silence. "You never wrote back."  
  
"Back to what?" Will asked quietly.  
  
"You never got my letters, did you?"  
  
Will shook his head, not seeming to care.  
  
"Why did you come? How did you know where I would be?" Then Jack thought of a better question - "Where are Elizabeth and James?"  
  
Will flinched as if slapped.  
  
"Oh no," the other man whispered. "Oh, no. Will, my boy, I'm sorry. When? How?"  
  
"When James was three," Will said in a constricted voice. "Elizabeth got the fever. She was dead within five days."  
  
"What about James?"  
  
Will looked up with dull eyes. "I was out," he said. "The Pearl attacked and they took James. I - I knew it wasn't you - it couldn't be - and so I thought -"  
  
Jack reached across the table and lay a hand on Will's arm.  
  
"Let's sail," he said quietly.  
  
***  
  
We're at the wind once again Racing to an unknown horizon Get here get there get out get in Let's raise that flag now. 


	4. Lost

It wasn't the old Jack Sparrow.  
  
But hell, he was close enough. It was as if Jack's mind had been transplanted into someone else's, mixing the two different parts. He was definitely not entirely sane now - more than just the drunken stumbling and the odd, much-loved grin, he would mutter to himself and glance behind him as if he thought someone was there, and he would always finger his pistol.  
  
But he was still there, farther down in him than Will would have liked. His old Jack was still there, and was surfacing more and more.  
  
A night four days from the island, they were eating dinner at the wheel - Jack was drinking dinner, rather, and Will was staring at his food, occasionally picking up an apple, taking a bite, and tossing it overboard. Jack had been silent for some time, and then he said quietly, "It isn't like the old times, Will."  
  
Will nodded in agreement.  
  
"I mean, I remember what I used to be like. I remember what you used to be like. We were happy, m'boy. We could have ridden the winds forever. Really bad eggs," and he muttered the last bit as if to himself. "But things've happened, haven't they?" Will bowed his head and didn't answer. "I'm sorry, Will. I'm sorry."  
  
There was another silence. "I don't want it to be so God-damned IdifferentI, Will."  
  
"You think I do?" Will whispered, looking up with red eyes. "You think I can help being like this? You think I enjoy it?"  
  
"You bloody well know that's not what I meant," Jack said quietly. "You always look at me accusingly, Will. You look at me like it's my fault. Like I had killed her, like I had taken your son away from you. While all this was happening, I was sitting on a godforsaken island with a pistol to my head! And even if you never got any of the letters I wrote, I'll bet you didn't write to me after she died!"  
  
Will didn't have an answer to this for some time. He stood finally, setting his empty plate on the ground, and moved so that only the wheel was between him and Jack. But his eyes were not angry, not exactly.  
  
"Why didn't you kill yourself?" he asked - and his voice was remorseful, but without a shred of malice. He wasn't angry with Jack. He was only wondering.  
  
"I tried," Jack hissed back, unable to be as calm as the other man, unable to keep anger out of his voice. "I sat there, and I thought of you and Elizabeth and James, thinking you were all safe and sound at home, and I knew that you were never going to write to me or even think of me, and I pulled the trigger, Will! I pulled it! And then I found out that bloody Eldred didn't leave me with a single shot, he left me with an empty pistol. Filthy bastard!" And he spat, and Will sat down slowly, his eyes wide. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, gripping his dark hair and shaking slightly.  
  
***  
  
Tales of the lost years/ And days so long past/ Told with new-found tears/ And heartache that lasts.  
  
***  
  
"I wasn't there," he said at last. "When she died. James - he kept crying for her, crying for Mama, and he tried over and over again to go over to her bedside. But I couldn't let him, Jack. I couldn't let him see her at all. And I couldn't touch him. I had the fever too, but it wasn't as bad yet, then. I'd caught it from caring for her. So I had to keep him away from both of us, and it was so damn hard. When the doctor came, and told me that she had it much worse than I did, but that James was still all right, I asked him to take James over to the Browns. Until it was over, you know - they had escaped catching the fever somehow and I knew they would care for him for us. And they did. But the doctor came again, and told me she was likely not to make it, and if I kept caring for her it would only make my own fever worse. I told him I didn't care. I told him I wanted to stay with her. And he asked me if I wanted to leave my son an orphan." He was crying, tears were running down his cheeks and Jack was watching him with a terrible sorrow in his eyes. "It was then that it hit me. Elizabeth was going to die and there was InothingI that I could do. Nothing at all. So what was I supposed to do, Jack? I had no idea what to do. And so I went to her bedside, one last time, and found out that she'd woken up. We spoke together, and I kissed her one last time, and she told me that when the doctor had been examining her he'd found out that she was pregnant. Almost two months pregnant. She'd miscarried once after James, and she told me she would try to hold on, for the baby. But I think we both knew that even if she did survive it, by some miracle or another, the fever would have killed the baby. She died the next night, alone."  
  
Jack steadied the wheel and moved over to sit down next to Will. He didn't speak, only watched him, and after a long time put a hand on his shoulder, and then Will sobbed into his shoulder and Jack let him, silently, because what kind of a brother wouldn't?  
  
***  
  
All we lost/ Those years ago/ Comes back to us/ Comes back to us.  
  
***  
  
"So how old are you, boy?"  
  
James started. He had thought that Anamaria was asleep - she had been leaning back against the bars, still and silent for some time.  
  
"Fourteen," he answered her quietly.  
  
"That's right. I remember captaining the ship when Jack went to see you. To think of this miracle in Eldred's hands makes me seethe, I can tell you. Jack always said that the Black Pearl was freedom, but Hell take me if this don't look so much like freedom."  
  
James glanced miserably around the brig and nodded.  
  
"So, how long has it been?"  
  
He blinked at her.  
  
"How long since you came down here? I know you count, everyone does at first."  
  
"Twelve days," he answered numbly.  
  
"You'll lose track after a while," she told him, turning so that her face was resting against the front bars again and her arms were stretching out - she was examining her hands closely. "It's already been hard to tell, eh? When they open it up, you wonder if this is dinner from one day or breakfast from the next?"  
  
He nodded, mute. He wasn't sure, actually - it could have been thirteen, or eleven days, or more or less - but it was at leasst a week and a half and no more than two. That much, he could be relatively sure of. They had taken Anamaria out, sometimes, onto deck, and she never spoke of what they did on deck, of how it felt to be out in the fresh air, and James never asked. They talked, perhaps twice a day, perhaps more or less, and she would sing under her breath, Drink up, me mateys, yo ho, making even the vilest, most inappropriate song sound beautiful, sometimes sharing with him the background of the song whether he wanted to know or not.  
  
One of them was one his mother had made up for the Pearl's crew, Anamaria said, and she would sing that when he asked her to, her voice slow and rich.  
  
They gave scraps of meat, and bread, and even though the captain had said any rum they felt like sharing, it was always Anamaria the men gave the rum to, and nothing to James, and when they were gone Anamaria would stretch her arm across and toss him the rum. Once he had missed, and it had landed on the floor just out of reach, and he and Anamaria had both apologized endlessly to each other.  
  
And James found that Anamaria was right. A few days later, or perhaps only a couple days, or a week, he found he had lost count of the days entirely. 


	5. Half Asleep Dreaming

Chapter Five: Half-Asleep Dream  
  
Sailing at the speed of freedom We raise the flag for all to see The wind in sails like a half-asleep dream And the crashing waves our lullaby be.  
  
Later, James' only comfort was that she had apologized.  
  
They'd come to her for help to navigate around the cays. He had known something was going to happen when she had pulled free of the two men leading her on deck, grabbing at the bars of his cell, and her mouth had formed silent words I'm sorry.  
  
Only minutes later, there had been a loud splash and shouting, and then silence.  
  
James wondered later whether she had really jumped, as his guard told him, or if she'd been pushed. But he did know that Eldred was furious and he started counting the days again, knowing that there was only a certain number of days someone could live without fresh water and food.  
  


* * *

  
Several long days onto the Pearl's trail, Will heard Jack shouting from above and came to see what was wrong. Perhaps the stores of rum were getting low - between the two of them, it was vanishing at an incredible rate.  
  
Jack had thrown over the anchor already, scrambling with one of the rowboats.  
  
"What is it? What's happening?" But before Jack answered he saw for himself - on the closest cay were the still-slightly-smoking remains of what had once been a huge bonfire.  
  
"Could be one of the crew," Jack said, trying to get the boat overboard. "Help me with this, dammit!" Will joined him, and decided not to remind Jack that they were leaving the ship alone.  
  
The shore was close, but there was no one in sight. "Maybe someone found them," Will suggested without conviction.  
  
And then, "There!" Jack cried, and sprinted forwards, Will in his wake, falling to his knees beside what Will had taken for a rotting log washed on shore in a storm.  
  
It was unmistakably Anamaria.  
  
"Oh my God," Jack moaned, turning his head away, unable to look at her. "Will, can you tell, is she - is she -"  
  
Will's fingers turned her head over gently and quickly found a weak pulse.  
  
"Barely. Let's get her to the ship."  
  
Jack complied, trembling, lifting Anamaria and cradling her as if she was a child.  
  
The next few minutes flew in uncertainty.  
  
"Jack? What are you doing?"  
  
"Standard procedures, Will, standard."  
  
"For a pirate, perhaps."  
  
"Wouldn't I want rum when you were dying?"  
  
"She might not be dying."  
  
"Don't feed me crap, Will, just look at her for one damn moment."  
  
"I mean it, Jack. I think we can - God, you're going to drown her in that stuff, stop it!"  
  
"What would I suggest doing, then, Doctor Turner?"  
  
A short silence. "Get water and some light food. Find her a blanket, as well -"  
  
"She doesn't need a bloody blanket, she's been in the sun for days."  
  
"We found her in the path of the tide, and it looked like she'd been there for some time. She's got a bad fever and chills, from the symptoms. Get cold damp cloths as well."  
  
"How the hell do you know that?"  
  
Another silence, and then Jack spoke again.  
  
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Anything else I should do?"  
  
"Yes," Will said, looking steadily at his friend despite faint indications of tears in his eyes. "Pray."  
  
Jack didn't answer, but stood and strode out of the cabin.  
  
He returned quickly and quietly, setting the tray of food and water down and covering Anamaria carefully with the blanket and handing Will the cloths. Will sponged at her forehead for a moment.  
  
After a while, Anamaria started murmering under her breath. Jack watched her silently, a haunted look in his eyes.  
  
Then Will caught one word, one name, and started violently. Jack had missed it. He glanced at the other man blankly.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Will had gone pale. "James," he whispered. "She said his name. She - Jack, she was on the Pearl. She can -"  
  
Jack was nodding. "She'll have helped on deck. She'll know their bearings."  
  
"But James -"  
  
"Yes. Is on the Pearl as well, and she knows who he is, which means he's a prisoner, else he'd've given a false name, I would guess."  
  
Anamaria shifted again, and their eyes snapped back to her.  
  
Her eyes opened.  
  
There was a long silence, and then Anamaria gave a shuddering gasp, her eyes flickering between the two of them.  
  
She could not speak right away, but soon slept again, and the next time she woke, she told them everything.  
  
Will pulled up anchor and sailed. 


End file.
